Confessor Rahl
by Zarthor563
Summary: Sequel to Father Confessor: With the young Aaron Rahl at his side, the Father Confessor continues his quest to find the counter to the Confessor magic. But what he discovers may destroy any chance he has for a normal life...
1. Heir Apparent

CHAPTER ONE : HEIR APPARENT

His blade snaked its way along mine, slipping past my defenses. It danced along the length of my sword, every second bringing him closer to victory. I manage to pull away at the last second, destroying his chance of disarming me. The Father Confessor smiled grimly at me, his iridescent eyes ablaze. I felt a shudder run through me. Of all the Confessor's traits; his ability, his manner, his temper, it was his eyes that scared me the most: a startling crimson, as though they were brimmed with blood, ephemeral and fluid. They were the eyes of death.

The clang against my sword brings me back from my musings, and I continue my dance with death. He strikes, I parry. I lunge, he defends and comes back with a ferocity that would quell the Keeper himself. I stand my ground and defend as best I can, but with every blow I feel my sword grow heavier, a dead weight in my hand. I had to strike, one definitive blow is all it takes to win a battle. The only problem was that there was no opening in his defenses. I doubled my efforts, increased the force of my blows; against the Father Confessor, one does not hold back.

Surprised by my burst of strength, he faltered. I wasted no time. I lunged, only to have him sidestep and grab my arm with his left hand. He twisted it, and I dropped my sword as I let a wail of pain. He thrust me backward and waited, cold and impatient. I gulped as I picked up my sword and assumed the position: I would now have to fight with my left hand.

He stood as still as stone, waiting for… I don't know what. Vincent has always been hard for me to read. Minutes pass, and still he does not attack. Fine, if he would not make the first move, then I would.

I charge at him. My sword is raised. Still he does not react. I smile to myself. _He's mine._

I was three paces away when Vincent dropped his sword, grabbed me, spun me and pinned me to the pillar, the dagger he kept hidden beneath his sleeve at my throat.

"You lose," he told me. "Again."

"It wasn't fair!" I complained. "You cheated!"

Vincent increases the pressure on my throat.

"You are brash and impatient. Had you waited, had thought about what you were doing, you would have seen what I was up to. But you didn't. You just wanted to win. That mentality will get you killed one day, and D'Hara will have lost its prince, your parents their son." He turned away from then, making his way back to the People's Palace.

"You still cheated!" I shouted at his back. Don't get me wrong, I love my cousin. But sometimes, he can be a bit of an ass.

Who am I, you ask, to be receiving such unfair treatment? Why, I am the heir to the D'Haran Empire, the son of the Seeker and the Mother Confessor: I am Aaron Rahl.


	2. Confessor's Burden

CHAPTER TWO: CONFESSOR'S BURDEN

"He doesn't like me very much, does he?" I ask Zedd as he heals my arm.

"Who?" the wizard asks as he stares intently at my wrist, rotating it ever so slightly.

"Vincent."

My great-grandfather stares at me. "Nonsense! That man feels nothing but love for you, Aaron."

"Then why does treat me so harshly? Why does he treat me like a child?"

"You are a child."

"You know what I mean."

Great-grandfather sighs, and I know he is preparing himself for one of his long-winded speeches.

"Vincent sees himself in you-"

"Come again?"

"Vincent was born a Confessor. More, he was born a Wizard, much like you. You and he are the only ones of your kind. Because of this, Vincent led a hard life. As a male Confessor, he was hunted from the day he was born. This power, along with his Gift, positioned him to become one of the most dangerous, and quite possibly evil, men alive. For this also, he was hunted.

"He lives today only through the grace of your mother's mercy, and the machinations of Shota. She rescued him from the massacre on Valeria, and raised him as her own."

"Shota?" I interrupted. "The witch he confessed? That one?"

He nods.

"But why confess the woman who raised him?"

"Because of the _**reason**_ she raised him. Shota did not love Vincent. She raised him so she could shape him, use him to fulfill her own ends."

"I still don't see what this has to do with me."

"Did you know that Shota foretold your birth?"

That was news to me. "She did?" Grandfather nods.

"Yes, she did. And she swore to your parents that the moment you were born, she would _**kill you; **_she would not allow a male Confessor, let alone one who also possessed the Gift, to live. That was why she raised Vincent: _**Shota raised him to kill you.**_"

I said nothing. How was I supposed to respond to that? I jumped as he twisted my arm past my point of tolerance. Zedd continues speaking, oblivious.

"When Vincent learned of Shota's deception, he left Agaden Reach, and made his way to Aydindril. There he hoped to rid himself of his demons."

"Demons?"

"He left behind him a false mother who raised him to become a murderer. Vincent never had a true family, his mother died on Valeria, and his father… well, you already know about that. On top of his feelings of abandonment, he was repulsed by himself. When he was young, he accidentally confessed his best friend. You are familiar with the concept of Confession. He had stripped his friend of her free will, made her a slave to his. From that day forward, he considered himself a monster."

I nod, _that_ was a story I knew well. I stare at my gloved hands. The same power that resides in me, also resides in my cousin. The ability to subvert the wills of men. To make them completely and utterly mine. Confessors are supposed to be pillars of justice, champions of truth.

But I have seen what Confession does to the confessed. How can we pretend to be defenders of justice, when we are in the practice of destroying people's souls? It is a question I have often asked myself.

Mother is no help. I asked her once, how could she stand to do what she does, day in and day out. She told me, "Without the Mother Confessor, and Confessors in general, there would be no justice, no hope. It is a hard job, but one we must do." I told myself that I would ask Vincent one day, but I have never been able to sum up the courage to do it.

"Vincent has fought for you, Aaron," Great-grandfather told me. "Fought for your right to live, to give you the chance to prove the world wrong, to learn what he has learned: that confessors are not monsters, that _**you **_are not a monster. Never doubt that he loves you."

And with that and a flair of healing magic, he exits, leaving me to my thoughts.

* * *

I notice that Vincent sneaks away about once week. So one day, as any concerned family member might, I decided I would follow him.

He enters the Gardens of Life. I'm disappointed. I figured he'd be going somewhere more interesting, but whatever. After a few twists and turns, he stops. He crouches and lays a rose on the ground. But why would he do that unless…_**oh**_.

My hands begin to tremble. It can't be her, it just can't be! She died in Aydindril, why would she be buried in D'Hara, and _**here,**_ of all places?

"You can show yourself, you know," Vincent said suddenly.

I step out from behind the bush, blushing from embarassment. "How did you -"

"Know?" Vincent smiled. "Stealth is not your strength. I knew you were following me from the beginning."

"Then why-"

"Let you?" Another smile. "To give you practice."

I walk over to him, and neither of us says anything for a moment. Then finally, I ask in a soft voice, "Is this her?" Vincent nods.

This was Emily, this was the woman I killed.

"I'm sorry, I said as tears stung my eyes. "I'm sorry she's gone because of me."

"Don't," Vincent told me firmly. "Don't do that to yourself. This was not your fault."

"She died because she thought she would never be allowed near me again. If I hadn't confessed her-"

"She had just tried to kill you; you were under heightened emotional stress."

"But-"

"The moment Zedd combined my gift with my confessor power, Emily was freed from my confession. Shota could no longer say that she would please me by killing you. Emily chose to follow Shota. She chose to go through with the act."

My cousin grips my arm: "_**This was not you."**_

I nod, and ask, "How do you do it? How do you live with yourself, knowing what you are?"

"Confessors are supposed to be the ultimate authority, the iron rod: impartial and impassive. We are the judges, and we judge swiftly and harshly, as all judges do.

"But we are also human. We feel. This then is our perpetual burden: reconciling our duty with our humanity. Be glad you feel this pain, Aaron, because the day you stop feeling it is the day you are no longer human."

"But how can I look past it? How can I learn to tolerate the pain?"

My cousin smiles a sad smile. "With time." He hugs me then, and I feel safe in his embrace, sheltered. It was then I knew he loved me.


	3. Curse of the Father

CHAPTER THREE: CURSE OF THE FATHER

Vincent is gone. He left yesterday night, without a single word of farewell. He'd seemed agitated when I saw him last, as he readied his horse for departure. He did not seem to notice I was there. After laying a rose on Emily's grave, Vincent mounted the steed and left in such a manner that it can only be described as flight: the Father Confessor fled the People's Palace as fast as the stallion could carry him, his crimson eyes glinting; a wraith in the night.

Mother, Father, and Grandfather all know why her left. They talk about it when they think I am not around. (Who says I can't be stealthy? J) But they tell me nothing. Whenever I ask, Grandfather pretends to be hard of hearing, Mother changes the subject, and Father looks at me with sad eyes before saying that I should not ask such things. I asked Cara once. She just stared at me with no discernable expression. I left as soon as she started to finger her agiels; I was not in any hurry to feel those things _again_. Now don't get me wrong, I love my family, but there are times when I think the lot of them exist solely to annoy me.

Despite our differences, (mainly his cold, military treatment of me, but I'm over that now.)Vincent and I had been close. He is the only other male Confessor besides myself. Of all the people who surround me, the Mother Confessor notwithstanding, he is the only one who truly understands what I am feeling. How could he not? He lived through this, he knows. He is familiar with the hatred, the revulsion I feel for myself. He has felt the fear of losing control, felt the pull of the power as it tries to subvert you, to claim you, to force you to submit to the male Confessor's darker nature.

For you see, my power differs from my mother's. Whereas her power is composed mainly of Additive magic, the magic of life, my power is mainly Subtractive, the magic of the Underworld, of death. Mother's power is not as dark as mine; it does not constantly threaten to overwhelm her, as mine does. Though she may empathize with me because of her experiences in the Con Dar, the Blood Rage, Mother will never be able to truly comprehend. The rage, the sheer adrenaline, the desire to kill and destroy anyone or anything that dares defy my will. Mother felt the pull of that terrible power for mere minutes. I have endured it for every second of my life. It is a constant battle. The prize? Control. I've lost count of how many times I've nearly lost control of myself, nearly damned my soul to eternal darkness. Mother does not understand. She could not. Her struggle is nothing compared to _mine_.

Vincent knew. He understood. There was a time when I had had been afraid of him, a male Confessor who did not fear himself. A man who drew strength from his gifts, rather than ignore or fight them; a man with the potential to destroy the world and fashion it in his image. But I was wrong to be afraid. When I confronted him in front of the grave of the woman I k-… when I confronted him in the Gardens of Life, I realized that Vincent is everything I want to be, minus the eyes. All I wish to accomplish, he has achieved. He is strong, sure of himself. He rose above the shackles of his blood, the curse of his ancestry, and found peace.

Vincent was my lifeline, the anchor of my sanity. But now he has left me utterly alone, and I hate him for it.

* * *

It has been three weeks since Vincent's departure. Grandfather has placed a Rada'Han around my neck.

"Your are eighteen now," he told me. "The same age as Vincent when his Wizard Gift painfully manifested itself. Wearing the Rada'Han will allow the gift to awaken without any repercussions." Whatever, as long as I don't end up with red eyes, I'm happy.

Sure enough, three days later, I felt my Han awaken inside me. Being the great wizard that he is, Grandfather linked my Confessor power to my Han, giving me voluntary control of both. I could finally take off these gloves! Thus, Grandfather and I began my magical education. I had always thought Vincent would be my teacher, as he was in everything else, but things change.

Father is now teaching me the sword. He is faster than my previous teacher, and his blows are harder, but he does not challenge me. The moment I become tired, he stops. He does not go for the kill. When I make a mistake, he stops to explain how I can avoid making that mistake in the future, unlike my previous instructor, who would have had me learn through experience.

I beat Father once; I disarmed him. He clapped on the back and said, "Good job!" and that was it for the day.

I have never bested Vincent.

* * *

I was poking around Vincent's room today, and I discovered a treasure among treasures: Vincent's journal. Maybe this would tell me why he left! I open it towards the end, searching for the most recent entries, and begin to read. You know, for a guy who was supposed to have heralded the end of the world, he has really loopy handwriting.

_Aaron followed me to Emily's grave the other day. He blames himself for her death, which is absolutely ridiculous. How can he blame himself for something he had no control over? He has a good heart, and I applaud him for it, but hopefully, I have put an end to those thoughts. Or at the very least, lessened their hold on him._

_But something about our conversation that day has been haunting me, plaguing my dreams. _

_When I found Emily standing over Aaron's crib, ready to plunge a dagger into his heart, I tried to confess her. It did not work; she resisted my touch and left me to die with her dagger in my abdomen. Had it not been for Richard, she would have escaped. I had never seen my uncle in such a fury. Then, when Kahlan tried to confess her, Emily fled from my aunt's touch, seeking refuge near Aaron's crib. It was then that Aaron, under heightened emotional stress, first used his power and confessed Emily. _

_But how is it possible that Emily submitted to Aaron's confession, but was immune to mine? She fled from Kahlan's touch, so it stands to reason that her will would have crumbled beneath the Mother Confessor's. But my power could not touch her. Why!? Zedd's explanation, that his combining of my gifts cancelled out anything my power had done before makes sense, but it only applies to the first confession! Why could I not confess her the second time?_

_I have spent my life searching for a counter to the Confessor's magic, and when one was standing before me, I let it die, I let __**her**__ die. It is my curse, it seems, to lose those I love: Mother, Emily, and even Shota, who was confessed by my hand._

_I have often wondered of the secret to the counter magic that allows Richard and Kahlan to be together. I asked them again toady, but my aunt and uncle were as helpful as ever, saying only that "The good spirits are with us."_

_I have made my decision. I will continue my search for the counter to the confessor power. It may be that Richard and Kahlan are right, that this counter does not exist. But if it does exist, then I will find it. This I swear._

I close the journal. So that was why Vincent left. I felt my hatred for my cousin slipping away, to be replaced by a deep respect and a sense of awe. I sent a silent prayer up to the good spirits, asking them to help Vincent find whatever it is he is looking for, and bring him home.


	4. Plight of the Son

CHAPTER FOUR: PLIGHT OF THE SON

I have run away from the People's Palace. I've kept Vincent's journal with me. I read it whenever get a chance. Vincent has chronicled his whole life in this journal, and every page brings me closer to him.

In point of fact, it was the journal that convinced me to leave D'Hara for the Midlands. As I read further into it, and saw my cousin's desperation, I realized that he was in a very dangerous state of mind; he should not be alone.

Father knows where I am headed. I foolishly asked him for permission to leave and find my cousin, which he denied. I know full well that his skills as a tracker are unparalleled, and I have strained myself to hide my trail from him, but it will not take him long to find me. I wish now that I had paid better attention to his lessons.

I am now deep in the woodlands that surround Aydindril. According to the journal, it would be Vincent's first stop. Apparently, he wished to return to the Wizard's Keep, though I know not why. To my knowledge, the place had not been of much help to him the last time he took up this quest. I guess he waned to start at the beginning. I can see Aydindril from where I stand now, the Confessors' Palace and the Wizard's Keep in the distance.

I use my magic to erase any trace of my passage through the woods; I have become very deft in its use these past few weeks, but it is nothing Grandfather cannot undo, and he is sure to be searching for me, along with Father. Mother as well. She would probably kill them if they tied to leave her behind. Cara as well. This, as you can imagine, did not help my mood at all: the Seeker, the Mother Confessor, a Wizard of the First Order, and a Mord-Sith all hunt me, and all I can do to throw them off my trail is mask it.

People give me a wide berth as I wind my way through the streets of Aydindril. Some of them bow, and I sigh. In D'Hara, the people bow to me out of reverence, out respect for their prince, the son of the Lord Rahl. But it was different here. Here, the fear of male Confessors was still too raw. In D'Hara, they bow out of admiration: in Aydindril, they bow out of fear. It also doesn't help that I have this infernal collar around my neck. I wonder briefly whether Vincent had felt this way during his stay here.

The Innkeeper at _The Dancing Dragon_ seemed a little distracted to me, but he managed to find me a suitable room; I'd decided there was no use in searching for my cousin without decent sleep and an empty stomach. I set my pack on my bed, stooping for a moment to retrieve the journal, then make my way down to the tavern, and order something.

I open the journal and begin to read as I wait for my meal to be prepared. The book is short, detailing Vincent's departure from Agaden Reach all the way to that day in the Gardens of Life. I reach the end and begin to close the book, already familiar with the end. But something catches my eye as the journal closes, forcing me to open it again.

Words were forming on the page. _On their own_. They were being written in a copious, crimson liquid. Blood. I quickly peruse previous entries and confirm my suspicions. The black, blotched lettering that I had taken to be ink was in fact dried blood. The book wasn't a mere journal. _It was a journey book._

I sprint up the stairs and lock the door behind me, eager to read Vincent's latest entry. It could tell me where he was! I stare at the page, just as the Rada'Han turns white hot and leaves me convulsing in pain.


	5. Reunion

CHAPTER FIVE: REUNION

The pain wracked my body, racing its way down my sides and up my back, leaving me to spasm on the floor uncontrollably. The Rada-Han burned white hot, and I knew that if I survived this, I would have burn scars traveling round my neck.

Barton, the innkeeper, bursts into my room; he'd heard my screams. He took one look at me, saw the Rada-Han, and ran out, leaving the door wide open. Meanwhile, I lay there, cursing my existence, and the burden of being a wizard.

I hear noise outside, the thump of feet as they made their way up the stairs. Through the haze of pain, I was able to make out four pairs of legs. There were four men standing in my doorway.

"Well, what have we here?" Said a voice to my left in a sneer. "A boy wizard, far from home."

"D'Haran filth!" another said viciously.

They enter the room. I didn't like where this was going.

"You are an abomination," said the man who had spoken earlier. He was less than a foot away from me now, his rigid countenance towering over my pain-riddled form. "This world has no need for more of your kind. One demon is enough."

He raised his arm, I manage to catch the glint of a dagger he held in his fist.

"Coward."

I send up a silent prayer of thanks to the good spirits. I knew that voice. I knew I was saved. The man above me, for his part, had frozen.

"You should direct your hate against the man for whom you harbor it, not against a defenseless child," my savior spoke, the anger evident in his voice. I felt a bit slighted at that. I may be young, and I might be defenseless at the moment, but I am _not_ a child. He and I were going to have a serious talk.

The Father Confessor strides into the room, the others giving him a wide berth. He comes to a stop in front of me, next to the man who had just been about to kill me.

"Give me your weapon, and step away from the boy."

My would-be assailant seems to deliberate for a moment, and his arms falters. Then he twists on his heel, and screaming "Die Demon!" lunges at the Father Confessor.

The man is thrown across the room, and he crashes into the wall with a sickening _crack_. He has definitely broken something.

"Ahh!" He screams in pain. Through my blurred vision, I see that his arm is burning: it is enflamed with Wizard's Fire.

A small shiver of fear ran down my spine. As far as I knew, The Father Confessor had not moved a muscle. At the moment, he stood still as stone as he watched the arcane fire consume its target. How much power did my cousin possess, that he could fling a man across a room and set him on fire, _without moving a muscle!_

The Wizard's Fire burned out, leaving a charred corpse in its wake. The other three ran from the Father Confessor.

"Cowards," Vincent muttered. He looks down at me. "And what, exactly are you doing here?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. Vincent seemed to realize this, and snapped his fingers. The Rada-Han snapped and fell from my neck. I shivered again: Vincent should not have been able to do that.

"I came looking for you," I said, standing up and rubbing my neck. "I want to help you find what you're looking for."

Vincent raised one of his eyebrows. "Why?"

What am I supposed to say to that? That I hate living with this constant fear of myself? That I was hoping, once we found this miraculous counter to the confessor power, to use it on myself?

Just then, Barton came back.

"Is it done, my lord?" he asked out of breath. "The boy is safe?" Vincent nodded.

"I have pleased you?"

"Yes, Barton, you have done well. You can go home now."

Barton bowed. "Yes, Master." Then he left.

"Why did my Rada-Han bring me such pain?"

"The Rada-Han is a tool for training wizards. Their final test is the test of pain," Vincent told me. "Richard must have tracked you, and had Zedd initiate the test of pain to keep you here until they arrived."

I felt a bit of anger at that. My _father_ had allowed this? He had _ordered_ it!

To clear my head, I asked another question.

"Why did those men want to kill me?"

Vincent laughed. But it wasn't a good laugh. It was one filled with bitterness and anger.

"You have never left the People's Palace, where you are tended to by fawning servants and respectful D'Harans. But outside of D'Hara, the world fears our kind, the male Confessors. And we are _Wizard_-Confessors. There are many who would love to see us dead."

I let that sink in for a moment, processed it, and filed it away. I would be more careful in the future.

I nod my head in the corpse's direction. "We should leave before his friends have a few rinks and decide to come after us again."

"Fair enough." And we left.

As we make our way out of Aydindril, I ask Vincent another question.

"What were you doing at _The Dancing Dragon_?"

"I've stayed there before. I decided to do so again while I continued my search. Plus, the innkeeper and I share… a bond."

I nod, remembering. Vincent mentioned a Barton in his journal. _The one he writes in blood_. Then a thought hit me, and I had to voice it.

"Barton is confessed?"

Vincent nodded. "For many years now. He was my first my confession."

He'd said so nonchalantly. I stared at his back as he walked. This was the first time I was afraid of my cousin in a long time.

Vincent and I headed into a small hamlet a few miles from Aydindril. Vincent stopped at vendor's shop, bought an apple, and asked the merchant where Lucinda lives. The merchant pointed, and Vincent thanked him.

We arrive at a small cottage. Vincent knocks, and the door is opened by a woman, a small child trailing behind her. She steps back at the sight of my cousin's eyes.

Without waiting for an invitation, Vincent enters the woman's home, which I assume is Lucinda, and I follow.

Vincent stares at her for a moment, with an expression I couldn't quite place.

"Hello, Mother," Vincent whispered quietly.


	6. Lucinda

CHAPTER SIX: LUCINDA

I stood there, staring in shock. This woman was Vincent's mother? But Dennee died years ago. I thought this woman's name was Lucinda. Vincent had to be mistaken. Realizing that I'm still staring, I turn to look at my cousin. He stood as rigid and impassive as stone. He hadn't said a word since his initial greeting. He seemed to be waiting for something.

Cautiously, Lucinda approached my cousin. She seemed to be over the initial shock; her expression had shifted from fearful to inquisitive. Her hand gingerly reached up, and cupped his face. He leaned into the embrace, closing his eyes momentarily; he seemed to find comfort in it.

Emboldened, Lucinda stared into his crimson eyes, as though she were searching for something. She gasped, taking a step back. Her breathing had hitched.

"Vincent?"

Last I checked, neither Vincent nor I had mentioned the name, so that could only mean…_whoa. _Vincent, for his part, simply nodded in response to the question.

"Aunt Dennee?" I ask tentatively.

She looks over at me, confused.

"This is Aaron," Vincent explained with a smile. "Richard and Kahlan's son: your nephew."

She hugged me then. I hadn't expected that. Imagine my surprise when I found myself hugging back. She hugged Vincent afterwards, and there were tears in her eyes when they broke apart.

"How?" she asked. "You drowned! I told Tom-"

"Tom didn't do it," Vincent explained. "Shota got to him first."

"Shota?"

And so Vincent told his mother everything that had befallen him since the massacre on Valeria. Shota's intervention. The years spent as her ward. The day he accidentally confessed Emily, the best friend he'd secretly loved. The day he discovered that Shota had only rescued and raised him so he could kill me, the only other male Wizard-Confessor. He told of his journey to Aydindril and the Wizard's Keep, of his quest to find a counter to the Confessor magic. He told of his first encounters with Richard, Zedd, and Kahlan. His confrontation and eventual reconciliation with Cara. He told her also of Shota's attempt to murder me when I was an infant, through Emily and the rest of her followers. And finally, Vincent told her of his final confrontation with Shota, which ended with her confession.

And Lucinda shared her story with us. She told us of the coming of the Mord-Sith to Valeria. How, with a heavy heart, she was forced to order the man she loved to kill their son. She told of her death at Cara's hands, the pain of the agiel being the last thing she felt as she left the living world. How she awoke in Denna's dungeon, in Lucinda's body. How she was unaware that Denna too was Mord-Sith, and wanted to use Dennee's anger towards Cara to bring the Seeker's quest to ruin. And finally, of her relocation to this hamlet, where she raised Lucinda's son, the daily reminder of the son she'd thought was lost forever.

There sat there, staring at one another for a while, and I felt out of place, as though I were intruding. So I went outside to give them some privacy.

I sat, leaning against the door. I closed my eyes, and thought of my father. I willed myself to see his location. He, along with Grandfather, Mother, and Cara were at _The Dancing Dragon_, standing in my room. Mother was talking to Barton, she looked annoyed.

I open my eyes.

The inn was only a few weeks from here. We needed to leave as soon as possible.

About an hour or so later, Vincent emerged from the cottage. He seemed troubled, despite the fact that he'd just been reunited with the mother he'd thought was lost.

I wanted to ask what was wrong, but said instead, "Where to next?" I am _such_ a coward.

Then again, his answer _did _scare me.

Vincent didn't even look my way when he responded, "Agaden Reach."


End file.
